A wife writes about what it is to live with a marathon running husband – hilariously. We only hope her husband reads it.
“Love is blind”, they say. “Love is also deaf”, I read the other day, as also, “Saying it is not enough, you have to show it!”
But it takes a special kind of self-flagellation to wake up at 4 in the morning, make and serve tea to the man you married and then drive him to the venue of his umpteenth half marathon.
“It will be good if you are there to cheer me,” he said. Maybe it was the hesitant but hopeful look in his dark brown eyes or the third glass of wine I was on. But the melting of the heart happened.
Why do I call it self-flagellation even when sober the next day? Let me explain what it feels like to be a non-runner in the middle of a half marathon. Firstly, you show up in a crumpled cotton T shirt and knit pants with floaters (they were a good deal for 300 bucks at the local Bata stores), when the visible periphery around you is filled with folks in those bright fluorescent dri-fit running gear and those oh-so-glamorous headbands and what not.
Secondly, it’s 5 am people – a good time to sink into that razai – did I tell you it was a weekend morning? Never mind. And the environment around you is filled with high decibel chatter and excitement and warm ups and loud catchy music.
And I yawned…yes I did…and they gave me the look!
You know, the look runners give non-runners? Like you suddenly got to pay them rent for the oxygen you just inhaled?
You know, the look runners give non-runners? Like you suddenly got to pay them rent for the oxygen you just inhaled? Whatever happened to ‘live and let live’?
The husband said he would try and ‘improve’ his timing and hoped to be back in less than 3 hours – warm up, cool down and logistics included.
I figured I could settle down in my car, catch up on social media (when did I ever leave it?), continue reading the Devdutt Patnaik I was half way through, maybe even lower my seat to catch a wink or two. Alas! The window screens were transparent and I did not want the husband to mess his timing if he ran past and witness the ignominious sight.
But living with him isn’t easy – and I’m really going to be assertive about this – he has to know it…and he will…err…when he gets down to reading this blog!
For example – “Would you like running shoes?” is not an appropriate question to ask a week before my birthday.
I love you. I really do. But for the life of me. I cannot make out the difference between your ‘previous’ running gait and ‘this’ one.
I care for you. I really do. But if I listen to how your left knee hurts during your 22nd surya namaskar I will scream.
I love our conversations. I really do. But I do not care for a monologue on the differences between running shoes or the merits of bare feet running.
I like to indulge you. I really do. But please do not behave like Gerard Butler in 300 every time you return from a run.
I cherish you. I really do. But if you stay grumpy after not matching your ‘best timing’ I may resort to physical violence.
I find you incredibly attractive. I really do. It isn’t necessary to show me the shape of your calf muscles on a daily basis.
I love romance. I really do. But please do not get that dreamy look in your otherwise intense eyes as you talk about running ‘with’ me someday. I could drive along real slow next to you if that works? Yes? No? Maybe?
…my over worked brain would rather not note that trivia on the Raramuri tribe or the best race courses in the world.
I love your awareness and general knowledge. I really do. But my over worked brain would rather not note that trivia on the Raramuri tribe or the best race courses in the world. Thank you.
And last (for now) but definitely not the least – please do not ask me to go for a walk/run when I say “I’m bored.”
I’m almost done with this blogpost and the 10k runners are done with their race and walking past my car. I lowered the glasses slightly to avoid dying of carbon monoxide poisoning. As they walk with hands on hips and sweat on their brows, casting the occasional curious glance at me, I sit here keying away on my phone looking as nonchalant but ‘intellectual’ as I possibly can.
Some of them are laughing loudly and high-fiving each other and ‘stretching’ (like, more exercise?!) Apparently ‘adrenalin’ is not sold OTC…sigh!
I may have another hour to go as the husband returns from his 21k.
I’m going to use the time to check out schedules at the local Vivafit.
Dammit – I see through his plan now – I may have succumbed after all!
P.S giving him that high-five at the finish line was really worth it!!
A man running image via Shutterstock
Smita has found a lot of self awareness and peace this decade and is revelling
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